


Here Summer is Forever

by planetarium



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A little angst, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Friends, Drama, Exes, F/F, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Neighbors, Pining, Pregnancy, Small Towns, courting, gangs maybe, sort of a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-04-29 08:19:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5121425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetarium/pseuds/planetarium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke returns to her dusty Southern hometown after seven long years to introduce her fiancé, Finn, to her parents. It’s meant to be a vacation from her all-consuming-career as a rising artist, but as her heart would have it, you can never really forget about your roots: memories, friends, and sweethearts. You can never forget one ‘beau’ in particular. </p><p>or the one where Clarke and Lexa are exes who are stubborn but pine nonetheless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd all mistakes mine

_Here, summer is forever._

_“Clarke!”_

_Lexa’s voice is behind her._

_Dust and red earth flies with the constant left right sway of the bike rushing downhill. The wind  is in her hair and the sun beats on her back. Icy droplets of water splash her ankles as the bike skids across pebbles, across the Creek, into the flaring sunset. Clarke is laughing. Lexa is by her side. Clarke’s heart is high and she is free._

* * *

 

“Clarke,”

Clarke blinked open two bleary eyes. First, she was aware of the slight sprain of her neck. Finn’s shoulder was not the right height to sleep against for two hours. When her eyes adjusted to the afternoon light that fell in from the clear windows, Clarke felt her stomach begin to churn. The train occasionally jerked forward or shook when it crossed an uneven section on the railway. Even with the windows closed, Clarke could hear the steady rumble and chug of the engine.

Finn looked down at her. “We’re almost there, another hour or so. Do you want anything to eat?”

At the mention of food, Clarke’s stomach flips. The smell of the buffet being served wafted into the carriage from the dining car. Clarke clutched tighter onto the crinkled paper bag. “I think I might feel worse if I do.”

When the cool wind rushed in, the stuffiness in the carriage cleared. Now, the air entered her lungs with ease. The scent of the forest grew stronger with every passing second, a mixture of pine and creek. Passing images of lazy afternoons spent in the fields floated by, and sweltering evenings by the porch, listening to her dad strum his out of tune guitar.

“Some air might help.” Finn said. The gush of cold made Finn’s loosened black tie flap about. His hair was much longer now, brushing the collar of his ironed white button up. The carriage was full of all kinds of people. Something Clarke never would have imagined seven years ago. Chubby babies sat on the laps of their mothers, a few children stood on the seats and peered out the window, and the elderly were engrossed in their newspapers. What, years ago, would’ve been a carriage reeking of smoke and shiny-faced businessmen. “You smell.” Clarke said, leaning away from Finn’s kiss. His beard was growing out again, still at the scratchy stage. Finn frowned, his arms and back stained with sweat.

“Yes princess, because I wasn’t prepared for just how hot it’s gonna be.”

“You could’ve wore shorts.”

“They don’t seem professional, and I need to make a good impression.”

“Or lighter colour pants.” Clarke said.

“Khaki and suspenders suit me just fine.”

“My mom loves you already.”

“She hasn’t met me.”

“That’s the point.” Before Finn could retort, Clarke’s stomach twisted. Combined with the heat and closeness to strangers, Clarke’s head throbbed. How she managed to fly from San Francisco to New York, without hacking up her guts was still a mystery.

“I’ll grab you some water.” Finn said.

Clarke only nodded in response. She watched as her fiancé made his way through the crowded carriage. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. Heat stroke? The last time Clarke boarded a train was the day after her eighteenth birthday. A one way ticket she stashed away in a single suitcase, plastered with stickers of bands she used to love. Away to North California, to San Francisco, a grand adventure. (A new beginning). Not once did Clarke think of Wolf’s Creek. How much could a little backwater town change in seven years? Quite a lot, Clarke learned from Finn’s travel brochure. A startup tech company sprang from the ground, the DeGrande Carnival and Circus drew in hundreds in the summer, and old mines were being reopened. Now the city never sleeps. ‘There is always a festival, an event. The food is rich in flavour and history, one must not say they have visited the South until they have spent a month in Wolf’s Creek.’ The travel brochure boasted. Finn said that Wolf’s Creek was dubbed the city of opportunity. A place where your name does not matter, where fortune awaits those clever enough to grasp onto it. A place of second chances, a fresh start anew. It sounded nothing like the dusty town she spent her teenage years in.

Clarke jumps to the feel of ice on her cheek. The brochure slips from her fingers. Finn held out a plastic cup of water with two bobbling ice cubes. “Any tips on how to win over your southern family?” Finn sat down beside her, picking up the brochure and folding it back into his pocket. The cold water soothed her dry throat. Her groggy mind felt clearer. She took small sips before taking an ice cube into her mouth. Now her stomach seemed to have settled.

“Make sure you have a firm handshake and go in for the hug. Eat a lot of food. Only make promises you can keep,” Clarke counted on one hand. “Yes sir, no ma’am, if dad wants you to shoot some hoops with him- go, even if you are hopeless at basketball.”

Finn made a face. “The Collins reign supreme in fencing.”

“I’m sure they’ll love you.” It is rare that Clarke sees Finn fidget. Even when he conducted meetings with men twice as experienced as he, Finn walked with a stride and kept his head high. Now, his leg would not stop jittering. Finn flinches away from her cold kiss on the cheek, and Clarke is grinning. His lip quirks, only slightly. Clarke placed her hand on his thigh. He gives her a sheepish look before sitting still. A sigh escapes. “I do hope so, Clarke.”

* * *

Once they stepped out from the train carriage, the extent of the South’s muggy atmosphere hit them full force. A thin sheen of water clung to the striking navy of the Blue Wolf Express with visible droplets of steam condensed around the gold nose. Businessmen donned full suits, fanning themselves with hats and newspapers. Finn hauled their two leather suitcases out with a matching leather shoulder bag slung across his side. Clarke could not weave her way through the crowd without bumping into somebody, stepping on toes, or knocking into people with the folded easel under her arm. Turning was nearly impossible given the giant canvas rucksack filled to the brim with art supplies. Finn huffed a breath of air as they exited the platform of the station. The suitcases and bags were set down.

Already, Finn’s face was shiny with perspiration. Wolf’s Creek has changed. No longer did Clarke recognise every face or every building. The dirt path was mostly devoid of cars, a few groups of women walked by, and cyclists pedalled pass wordless. A sleek car parked on the side, the blinker still flashing. Clarke tapped on the window lightly.

“Excuse me,” the window opens a crack. “Could you tell me how to get to Hatswell Inn?” A moment passed with absolute silence, before the door opened.

“Clarke?” The voice is familiar, but it is not until Clarke sees the figure that she gasps.

“Monty!” He is smiling and bringing Clarke into a tight hug. “It’s been what, six, seven years?”

When Monty pulls back, Clarke takes a long look at her friend. His hair was shorter now and his jaw broader, with the beginnings of a beard. Yet, his demeanour was just as soft as she remembered.

“Wow, you’re,” Clarke waves her hand for the lack of a better word. “Different, in a good way. You look great.”

“I could say the same to you.” Monty says. He nods to Finn. “Who’s this new face?”

“I’m Finn, Clarke’s fiancé.” Monty takes his hand.

“Monty Green, known Clarke since she was a baby.” Monty turns to Clarke. “If you’re heading over to see Mrs Hatswell it’s gonna be a bit of a walk. I can give you two a lift if you want, I’m out on my lunch break.”

“That will be great.” Finn said, “I can’t believe how hot it is out here.”

“Oh, it’s only the beginning.”

Monty props open the trunk of the car and stuffed Finn’s suitcase in. “When did you get here? We would’ve prepared a big party for you.”

“It was more of a impromptu thing, we can catch up later, after Finn meets my mom.” Clarke takes the last suitcase from Finn and passes it over. It’s at this that Monty looks between the two of them and understanding dawns on his expression.

“Wow, congratulations!” He sees Clarke’s sixteen carat diamond ring. “Super expensive, I bet.”

“I have my ways,” Clarke grinned.

“We’re still at the same old spot, Grounders Club. Drop by sometime, the business is doing great.”

Monty takes Clarke’s custom made easel and manages to squeeze it in without snapping the thing in half. “You two staying at the inn or what?”

“We’re driving up to my grandpa’s old house.”

“You still sure you remember how to get to White Chapel? I could drive you guys there y’know.” Monty pulled the door open for the two of them, Clarke climbed in first, followed by Finn. The leather seats of his car were surprisingly cold, despite the AC being turned off. It smelled of air freshener, with a million lights reflecting off the little disco ball around the rearview mirror.

“I know, I know,” Clarke said as Monty hopped back in. “By the big oak, take a left, keep going past the green tractors. Take a right near Grounders. Keep going, through the woods.”

“Glad to have you home.” Monty grinned at her through the rearview mirror.

The car ride is a relatively quick one. Monty talked with Finn about New York, about his job, about Clarke. Clarke was too engrossed in the scenery. Too many unknown buildings have emerged from dust, no longer could Clarke name every single road, nor could Clarke remember the exact route to take to get to places. Once they entered the heart of Wolf’s Creek, Clarke’s heart swelled with disbelief.

It was a little Vegas. The town square was transformed. Their small fountain upgraded to a much grander one, white pigeons settled on the edges. Where had been dirt, now are smooth roads and pavements made of stone. All kinds of buildings set in place, old wooden stores replaced by newer ones, stone, marble… Clarke cannot imagine this little city at night. Monty stopped by the front of the inn.

“Thank you so much,” Finn said, already pushing the door open to grab the luggage. Monty leaned back around to Clarke. “Well, I gotta go grab something to eat. See ya around sometime. Bring Finn too, he seems fun.” Monty waved goodbye as his car started up.

A bell rang when Clarke pushed the wooden door open. “Hatswell’s Inn” was printed in bold letters, outlined in neon, able to light up at night. Inside, two fans hummed. The floorboard creaked as Clarke peered over the empty front counter. It was as Clarke remembered, a small lamp on the counter, the walls covered with framed historical photographs. Mrs Hatswell lived in the lower floor of the inn, just behind the reception, separated by a green door. Two large potted flowers sit on either side of the patched couch. Stairs were hidden by a drab wall, that led to the upper floors where the guests stayed. “Oh my, Clarke!” The curtains opened the woman hobbled over. She grasped Clarke’s hands and leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. “Who is this handsome gentleman?”

“Finn Collins, Clarke’s fiancé.”

“What a lovely pair the two of you make,” Mrs Hatswell said with an approving nod at the two of them. A man enters the inn shortly and Mrs Hatswell passes Finn the keys and calls after them to make sure they come to Matty’s picnic this Sunday.

* * *

They somehow manage to get to White Chapel without getting lost in the forest. At times, the dirt path diverged and the painted street names on the wooden signs had began to fade. Then, it was a matter of memory. After all, it was Clarke’s grandfather’s home. Seven years away from home could not make her forget the weekly visits with her dad. Finn did get anxious from the long drive in the woods, nearly twenty minutes with no house in sight. Then, the rustling of the breeze against the trees and cry of bugs overpowered the radio. When they finally reached a clearing, he laughed.

“I was convinced we were lost.”

The car pulled up by the white driveway gate. The house was just as Clarke remembered it, a typical one-story southern home. A polished porch stood at the front, the outside recently repainted, and a white picket fence. It stood out against the other homes, all well kept with mowed lawns and blooming flowers. Their front yard was overrun with weeds and wildflowers. Woven around the peeling paint of the gate was a giant combination padlock the size of a fist. Clarke got out of the car and fiddled with the numbers. She heard Finn roll the car window down.

He popped his head out. “You sure this is the place?”

Clarke nods. “Yeah, been here so many times before.” _7-9-1._ The lock did not budge. _2-1-9._ Nothing. _4-2-1._ The engine’s ignition is switched off, the soft radio goes silent also.

“Is that a wolf?” Clarke can hear Finn’s steps crunching down into the gravel. “Is that where Wolf’s Creek comes from?”

“No,” Clarke said without looking up. The lock finally made a soft ‘click’. “There are no wolves here.”

* * *

_“Do you think there are any wolves here, Lexa?”_

_“My daddy said there used to be. Before lots of people came.”_

_“What happened then?”_

_“A man became friends with the wolves. Once he was lost in the forest, it was nighttime and he didn’t know how to get back. The wolves found him. They didn’t hurt him though, they took him back, down the creek, back to the village. More and more people came to the village. So many people that they needed more space to build houses and more places for farms. So daddy said they started to cut down the forest. At first the wolves could live with the people. But then the wolves lost so much of their home that they got hungry. So they went to the village.”_

_“You mean the people hurt the wolves.”_

_“Yes. They sent groups of people to the forest each night to find them. When they did, they shot them.”_

_“What happened to the man?”_

_“He got a lot of money from gambling. His wife and daughter left him because he only cared about the mountain. Daddy said he bought the rest of the forest, all the way to Blue Mountain. All of that is still his.”_

_“Does that mean the wolves are in Blue Mountain?”_

_“Maybe. No more people were allowed to hunt them. By then, when he bought the entire forest, no one had seen a wolf for so long.”_

* * *

However, Clarke had to admit Finn seemed right. There was a wolf-like creature in the garden, almost hidden by the overgrown grass up to its neck. “There’s a collar on it,” Clarke said. “It must be somebody’s pet.” Finn let out a long sigh. “Well, I suppose we need to introduce ourselves sooner or later.” The wolf-dog’s ears perked to the sound and looked at them, but made no move to run or get closer. He was about the size of a German Shepherd, slightly bigger, with markings that resembled a husky. Under the afternoon sun, the dog’s brown coat appeared almost red. With a flick of the tail, the dog trotted off to the west of the garden, unalarmed by their presence. “He probably thinks this is his territory now.” Clarke pushed the gate open. The dog did not even lift its head. Finn carried the baggage, the house keys dangling from his mouth. “I’ll drop the suitcases inside first, you’ll confirm dinner arrangements?”

“Thank you,” Clarke presses a quick kiss to his cheek as he stumbles toward the front door. Clarke slows down to take in the moment. A lot of work would need to be done on the garden. How long has it been since Clarke has even smelled the scent of freshly mowed lawns, or even heard the call of bugs and birds? It was such a strong contrast to the smells and sounds of New York, of the traffic, horns, and ambulances. So oddly still, yet buzzing with life. Clarke glances over to one of the neighbour’s homes. The brick house on the left had no car parked in its car port. The fence was the height of Clarke, the wolf-dog would need to be a champion high jumper to leap over it. Finn opened a window and a cloud of dust and dirt fell.

“This place is beautiful!” Finn said with coughs, waving a hand to clear the haze. “A fireplace, when it’s this hot?” “Wait until you see the rest of the town,” Clarke calls back. Finn resumes airing out the house by opening the windows of the bedrooms next.

She dials her home number into her mobile. “Hello, Griffin residence.” Her dad picks up after one ring.

“Daddy,” Clarke can feel her dad’s excitement. “Clarke! Did you make it all okay? Mrs Hatswell gave you the key to the car, I hope?”  

“Yes, yes, everything is okay. We’ve just arrived and Finn’s putting the stuff away. How are you?”

“Great, now that my little princess is back. It’s been so long Clarke. The last time we saw you was at Christmas, and at New York!”

“Don’t act like I don’t call you every week.”

Jake’s laugh rumbled deep in his chest. “Your mother says to drop by at seven. We’re looking forward to seeing this Finn of yours, a good gentleman, I hope?”

“Good enough to rival the best gentlemen in the south.” At that, Finn stepped out onto the porch holding up two different button ups. His brow still damp with water.

“That’s what I want to hear,” Jake said. “Well, I won’t keep you for much longer. Freshen up, a big dinner is waiting for the two of you.”

“Mrs Hatswell said something about a picnic this Sunday. She also wants to thank mom.” Clarke decides on the light blue, and Finn retreats to the house again.   “That’s right, her older son is getting married. A small gathering as always, you should bring Finn along to it, Clarke.”

"I’ll ask him. I don’t want to scare him off just yet.” Clarke could hear her mom calling about something, and the clanging of pots and pans. Clarke has not ate a dinner made by her mom since she left. “Your mom needs help setting up the barbecue, see you in a bit.” Clarke could almost see her dad’s grin. “Love you, my little princess.”

“Don’t make too much food,” the memories of thanksgiving dinners return, how the long table was full of plates of food. How every guest ate until their stomach grew by at least an inch. Clarke could not sleep that night. “Love you too.”

Her dad hangs up, and Clarke sees the wolf-dog approaching. It’s blue collar makes a jingling noise as it trots by. Clarke catches the silver tag with a name engraved on it, Zorro. Two brown eyes greet hers, masked by black, two identical spots of white above it’s eyes. It would be intimidating, should the dog not have lolled its tongue out the next second, his mouth curling into what resembled a human-like smile.

* * *

_“Are you trying to look intimidating?” Lexa did not bother to glance up at Clarke. Her hands far too busy with the lacing up of her runners._

_“It’s a tradition, Clarke.” Lexa said instead, tightening the lace with a skilled double knot._

_Clarke tilted her head to catch Lexa’s eyes. “Lexa, you look like a raccoon.”_

_At this, Lexa frowned. “No Clarke, I look-”_

_“Like a warrior?”_

_Lexa grunted in response, sitting down on the bench and stretching her arms. Her red jersey custom-made, since they never had the need to give a girl one before._

_“I like it,” Clarke said. “It brings out your eyes.”_

_It’s meant to be playful when Clarke reaches to smooth out the hair falling in her eyes. The warpaint is made from something special, a tradition of the Trigedakru. Ash? Charcoal? Cinders? Lexa wears it over the expanse of her eyes, great whirls, mixed with water, that runs down her cheeks._

_The black is mesmerising, empty, hollow, like a chasm, but the warmth of Lexa’s green eyes shine through, soft, fluid. Lexa’s gaze fixed on Clarke’s lips._

_“I like your lipgloss,” Lexa’s arm reaches for Clarke’s waist, drawing Clarke into a straddle on her lap.“It brings out your lips.”_

_Her breath is hot on the underside of Clarke’s jaw, Clarke bares her neck, and she feels Lexa kiss her. Clarke dips her head to taste Lexa’s lips. “Good luck,” Clarke murmurs. Lexa closes the distance between their lips once more._

* * *

Zorro’s tail thumps back and forth as Clarke discovers a spot between his ears that makes him whine. Her fingers smooth his fur, and she notices a low wire fence, the height of her hip. This neighbour’s dog, perhaps. Clarke suddenly feels slightly embarrassed.

The wire fence had some kind of crawling plant that covered in a layer of green leaves. Their neighbour’s garden was kept and well, beautiful really. A gardener, maybe. Their neighbour’s gate was quite high, wooden, painted a dark green. No fence, just a hedge. Zorro barks as Finn walks by, already freshened up, a quick shower and new clothes. He wore the cologne Clarke gave him on his birthday. They stand, smiling at each other for a moment, until Zorro nudges his muzzle under Clarke’s hand. Rather loud music disrupts their moment.

A red pickup truck, one of the Ford models from the 70s, Clarke recognises from Raven’s newfound obsession of old cars, pulls up by the driveway to their neighbour’s home. The passenger seat window is rolled all the way down, two very green plants blocked the view. “Seems like our neighbour’s back.”

Finn straightened up and smiled at Clarke. “Time to make a good impression.”

He rushes out the gate. Clarke can hear the heavy sound of the door of the car closing. “Hello, I’m Finn Collins, with my fiancée, we’re from New York. We were wondering if by chance you had a dog?”

“That must be your owner, huh?” Clarke said, scratching at Zorro’s ears. “Did you jump the fence? Is that how you got here?”

Finn comes into view from the neighbour’s garden, he's smiling and walking backwards. He is by the wire fence too, and Clarke could reach out to poke him if she wanted to. “He must’ve jumped the fence, it’s quite low anyway.” Finn said, “No, no trouble at all. We’ve just came today.” The crunch of gravel is too loud to make out the neighbour’s voice. Yet when Finn begins to introduce Clarke, and she follows the hand of the stranger coming into view, and she hears-

_Oh._

In a heartbeat, the dam to her memory rushed open. It bubbles from within, and suddenly she is overflowing with sights and sounds, so much so that the past and the present become a blur. _No._ Her eyes follow along the tanned arm- The sun broke through the white clouds and illuminated her in a thousand points of dancing light. Clarke tested the name out countless times on her tongue, whispered it against soft skin under the expanse of the stars, gasped it, tasted its sweetness, and known its poison. Perhaps it escapes in a breath, perhaps the name never did leave her lips.

_Lexa._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd all mistakes mine.  
> Happy late new year!

It is like her name never left Lexa’s lips at all. Face to face, with the ghost of her past, still haunted by the depth of her blue eyes and the shimmer of her blonde hair.

 _“Clarke.”_ The name tears through Lexa’s lips and feels odd on her tongue.

A shudder seems to run down Clarke’s spine at the mention of her name, and Lexa’s stomach flips. Clarke had always loved how Lexa’s tongue wrapped around the ‘c’ and ‘k’. To think that some little things may never change. (Did Clarke still run into storms, laughing, dancing, spinning?)

There are too many unspoken words between them that beg to be let out, to be shouted, to be whispered.

The invisible string must still bind them together. For when Lexa dares to look, Clarke is staring right back. She cannot stop the brimming feelings and she hopes Clarke cannot read her expressions because she had always said Lexa’s thoughts were written on her face.

_Is she thinking of this too? Does she think of the lazy afternoons, the cramped house parties, the nights spent away from home, the time she traced Orion on my cheek? Does she-_

Lexa swallows with difficulty. Her heart is at her throat. She digs her fingers into the metal mesh of the fence. Her first love. Her sweetest love. Her-

Lexa is almost hungry in the way her eyes dart about Clarke’s face, searching for the remnants of the old Clarke and burning the new Clarke into her memory.  Lexa opens her mouth but no words come out. Small, faint creases form at the edges of Clarke’s mouth and another between her brows, a peculiar hardness now hides in her eyes, all that tells of the time that has passed since they were sweethearts.

“You know each other?” 

Just as quickly as the feeling came, it disappears. In a heartbeat, Lexa seems to have been pulled to the surface. Sounds came plunging back into her ears, beating wings of a distant bird, the rumble of a tractor, the chorus of cries from cicadas

 _Yes, we were together once._ But Lexa doesn’t speak and instead, looks toward Clarke. She’s fumbling for the right words. _Friend? Lover? Acquaintance?_

“We go way back.” Lexa said instead. 

Clarke seems to emerge from her own trance.

Even if Finn senses something different, he does not say. “Small town, I suppose.”

“Was a very small town, that’s changed now.”

Lexa supposes the conversation is over, but Finn points to Zorro.  “He’s not a wolf, is he?”

“There are no wolves here,” Lexa’s heart leaps when Clarke’s eyes flash with recognition. It is not a fair game. “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s some kind of mutt.”

No matter how dense Finn may be, by now he was aware of something greater. He looked on toward Clarke curiously but she does not respond. It is with great effort that Lexa turns away.  “Well, if you need anything, feel free to drop by.”

Almost as if the spell has been shattered once more, Clarke pulls away. The distance is keenly felt. She can hear their footsteps crunching on gravel, back into the house. 

Lexa’s shoulders relax and air flows easier into her lungs. _Fool._ But Clarke smells the same, refreshingly cool- and Lexa can still feel the texture of Clarke’s hair running through her fingers. She can still remember Clarke’s hands covered in charcoal, her nails painted blue-green, and the taste of her mouth after candy. 

Lexa’s hand goes to her heart. Still alive, still beating, still stinging.  Anya was wrong. Wounds never do fully heal. The deep ones ache in extreme temperatures, in the cold, in the heat- they itch, as if demanding attention. Lexa has tried everything and now, she can only wait, wait until this emotion dissipates, until the summer passes. 

Some part of Lexa would always be there, in the long, hot days of their youth, still dreaming, still chasing after Clarke. Lexa had come to acknowledge that its existence was undeniable. The ghost she had spent far too long resurrecting has returned in the flesh, just as lovely as she remembers. Lexa should have known no good would come from it.  
  
Zorro let out a long whine that is carried away by the wind.

* * *

Just as Lexa nudges the door open with her foot and Zorro bolts inside, tail wagging back and forth, she manages to place the two heavy pot plants by the door. A slip of paper poked out from beneath the doormat.

Plain white card, black border, a silhouette of a crow with outstretched wings in the very middle. She turned the card over.

ALEXANDRIA WOODS,

WHEN THE MOON IS FULL, YOU SHALL TAKE FLIGHT.

M.

She brought the card to the light. A sparkling image of a silver crow danced on the polished oak of her desk. It’s real. Lexa’s stomach drops and before she is aware, her hand already reached out to dial the one person who would know what to do.

Anya picked up after one ring. “Nice of you to call _me_ for a change.”

“It’s him,” Lexa hopes her voice is not too shaken. She dares not speak of his name too often for the fear that he will materialise before her eyes. His eyes and ears are everywhere, and Lexa’s vision was becoming hazy.

The line was quiet for a moment. Lexa could hear Anya fumbling with the phone, some grumbling from patrons until the background noise of the bar ceased.  
  
“No, Lexa, you’re not doing it.”

“Did you see what they did to Gustus?”  
  
“Of course I did,” her voice was harsher now. “You don’t think I know that his wife cried for days? His little boy waited by the station all night, waiting for his dad to come home.”

If they could take Gustus down, the rest of them were fair game.

“It could’ve been worse,” Lexa’s finger traced the head of the crow, noting the single red pearl hanging from its curved beak. “They’ll do that to me too. Throw me in the Creek. Gustus was a warning.”

“Those fuckers,” Anya lets out a long breath. “When’s the date?”

“Two weeks from now.”

A squeal makes Lexa jump. 

From her kitchen window she could see Clarke and Finn, the two tumbling in the grass, sporting matching grins. Their automatic sprinklers had just turned on, showering the two of them with freezing water. Lexa once too had the misfortune of retrieving Zorro from their yard, only to be hit by the same chilly water. 

Anya continued. “Gustus got what was comin’ for him. He should’ve lay low with his family, not tryin’ to locate them and bring them to justice. It ain’t his place. But you? Lex, it makes no sense. Why now?”

“I don’t…” Lexa watches as the two of them get up, clothes ruined with streaks of mud and grass. Finn and all his boyish charm. _Did she always smile like that?_ “Fuck.”  
  
“Shit, are you, no wait I’ll call the cops-”

“I’m fine, Anya, but,” Lexa averted her eyes from the affectionate display, “Clarke’s back.”

“She has nothing to do with this.”

Lexa let out a long sigh. “I don’t know, Anya.”

“Come by the Grounders tomorrow. Don’t do anything stupid. We’ll figure it out.”

Lexa cannot sit still. Zorro is by the couch, taking a late nap, unbothered by Lexa’s pacing. It does not calm her. Instead, she leaves for her front yard. She catches Clarke and Finn by Jake’s car, already changed into new clothes.

“What’s wrong?”  
  
Finn’s head poked up from behind the lifted car hood. “Car’s busted.”

“Mind if I check it out?” Lexa stepped over the fence. She’d fixed Jake’s car last time when he cheated at a game of Old Maid.  “You’re outta gas.” Lexa said after one glance.

“It’s full though.” Clarke says.

“Yeah, I was meant to fix that but I didn't’ get around to it.” Lexa didn’t expect Jake to be needing the beat up car soon anyway. “When do ya need to be there by?”

Clarke shook her head. “It’s okay, we can go to the gas station,”

In response to Lexa’s incredulous look she continued,  “There’s one by Light Avenue!”

Lexa’s lip is quirked. Seven years is a long time. “The closest one is down by Forrest Drive. I can give you two a lift. I need to return some of Abby’s plates anyway.”

“That’ll be great, thanks so much.” Finn says.  
  
Even Lexa can tell the uneasiness written all over Clarke’s face. A forty minute drive with an ex and a new lover was not exactly on Lexa’s plan either.

“That’s what neighbours in the south are for.”

* * *

 Thankfully, the drive was a pleasant one. Finn absorbed in the scenery would ask a few questions and an easy conversation would ensue. Now Lexa was glad she’d cleaned up her car the week before. Clarke didn’t speak the entire ride, only nodding once to one of Finn’s questions. 

As the familiar place of Jake and Abby came to sight, Finn began to wriggle in his seat. 

“First time meeting the parents?” Lexa pulled the car right up to their garage. 

Finn laughed. “Yeah, wish me luck.” 

Unfortunately, Lexa had little time to wish him anything, seeing as the door flew open and out came Jake and Abby. The two of them dying to get a glimpse of Clarke’s new beau.

“What’s this?” Jake grinned as the three of them got out of the car. Finn didn’t get the chance to speak as Jake brought him into a tight hug. “You must be Finn, you’re taking good care of my Clarke, yes?”  
  
Lexa’s glad to see the plates haven’t shifted too much during the drive. She counted five. No wonder she’d put on some weight lately.

 “Clarke!” Abby brings her daughter into a hug. She looks Finn up and down, raising her brows. “You must be Finn! Clarke has told us so much about you.” 

Jake looked at Lexa.  “Lex, you being the chauffeur tonight?” 

“Your car was out of gas,” Lexa handed him the plates. “And I’ve brought back the plates.” 

“You didn’t fix it?” Jake frowned. 

“I fixed your brakes, the radio, the ancient engine-”  
  
At Abby’s gasp, Lexa spun around. “You haven’t been eating properly! Look at you, those cheekbones poking right out.”   
  
Lexa only smiled faintly. 

“I’ll pick the two of you up after.” Lexa said to Finn. “I’ve got some errands anyway.”

“What the hell,” Jake says, much to the dismay of Abby who frowns at his choice of words. Jake nodded his head. “Come in Lex, you could do a nice dinner.” 

Indeed, Lexa doesn’t remember the last time she’s had a homemade meal. But Lexa can feel the tension. Clarke would not stop fidgeting in the car ride, and now, she seemed even more anxious. There’s already been too much interaction between the two of them.

“No, I really shouldn’t.” Lexa dug her hands into her pockets. “Thank you so much though.”

At this, Abby sighed and crossed her arms.  “Now, are you gonna fight with me? The food’s going cold, Lexa.” 

Lexa briefly considers running back to her car and driving off. But, given the stern expression on Abby's face, she doubts that would go down well. 

“No ma’am,” Lexa says and steps inside. 

* * *

“How’s the house? Still in good shape, I hope?” Jake asked. 

All five of them sat around the dinner table, digging into Abby’s delicious meal. Jake poured Finn a glass of iced tea. Lexa’s mouth was already watering. She has not cooked a meal since she got her kitchen renovated.

“Great, actually,” Finn took the glass. “I’m thinking of giving two rooms a new paint job tomorrow. The wallpaper’s peeling off.”

Clarke was busy adding salad and barbecue onto Finn’s plate. “The garden’s a jungle too, so we’ve got our hands full.”

At that, Jake grins. “Well, time to call in on my win.”

“You two are still going at it?” Abby frowned. “Lexa, you never lose at poker.”

“It was Old Maid.” Lexa said. “And he cheated.” 

“Jake!” It sounds more exasperated than anything.   
  
“You’re free tomorrow, aren’t you?” Jake says, ignoring the two of them, passing Lexa a glass too. “Sunday we’re all going to Matty’s picnic, now, aren’t we?”

“No, no dad,” Clarke cuts in. “It’s okay, Lexa’s busy too, we can handle it on our own.”

Finn nods too. “Yeah, we’d be able to do it in a day, no problem.”  
  
“You heard the two of them Jake, Lexa already has plans.” 

For once, Lexa was grateful that Clarke wanted to stay away.   
  
“I’m sure she’s got time to spare,” Jake eyed Lexa. “After all, I did fix your plumbing on _my_ anniversary.”

Ah shit. It was bound to come back and bite her on the butt one day. Indeed. If not for Jake, Lexa’s house would still be flooded with toilet water to the point where she might as well buy a new one. 

“Sure,” Lexa said. (Without much choice.) 

“Great! That’s all sorted, Lex can help paint the living room- was it? We’ve got paints in the garage, same colour, and the three of ya can bond and catch up.”  
  
Glass clink with a chorus of _cheers._ Clarke clearly briefed Finn on what to say and what to do. Abby was already won over by his big appetite. Halfway through the meal, the conversation changes from Finn’s work, how the two of them met, eventually to the conversation Clarke had with Abby a few weeks ago. 

“Now, what’s this good news Clarke has been talking about?” Abby set down her knife and fork, buzzing with anticipation. 

Clarke’s eyes darted over to Lexa. “Maybe not now, momma.”   
  
“Now, Clarke, we’re all family here.” 

“Well,”  
  
Lexa brought the glass to her lips. She would ask for more alcohol, except Abby didn’t like it very much when Lexa drank too much. 

“I’m pregnant.”

She choked.

* * *

 

The rest of the dinner is all celebrations. Abby has taken Clarke’s hand and is asking every question possible: is there anything we can do? Have you thought of any names? What about the rooms?   
  
Jake and Finn are absorbed in their own conversation about baby monitors, cribs, and baby-proofing the old house. When Finn does look at Lexa, he still has a light blush on his cheek, as if he’d just had his first kiss. She manages a weak smile and a “congratulations” directed at the wall. Lexa moves the roasted potatoes around her plate, prodding, then peeling the skin off with her fork.

_Pregnant? Clarke?_

Such foreign words. Words that did not seem to fit together. 

The butter had begun to melt, forming an oily puddle next to her disposed potato skin. She tries swabbing the crispy skin in butter.

Octavia already has two of her own. Except Octavia and Clarke are different. 

Clarke, nine months from now, would most definitely have a swollen stomach, with all the lovely glow all pregnant mothers have. Finn wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her, nor will anyone, all desperate for a feel. Then the child, with his father’s features and his mother’s wit would effortlessly wedge into the hearts of the Griffins and go on to win the hearts of the south. With ease, like her mother. 

It tastes slightly salty and the texture reminds Lexa of the thin layer of skin that forms on hot milk. And the onslaught of questions she had been fighting against flared.

_Since when did Clarke want children? Did they- did she- was it passionate? Was it better?_

Lexa shovelled the food on her plate into her mouth. What an ungrateful guest she would be if she didn’t make an effort of downing all the food Abby spent hours preparing.

The conversation drones on, but Lexa has lost her appetite. She manages to clear off the remaining chicken and peas on her plate.

Two more bottles of wine are opened, Lexa only has to take a sip from her glass before Finn eagerly fills it up. More plates of barbecue are brought out and quickly cleared off, spirits are high and both Finn and Clarke eat, hungry as a wolf, Dorothy would have said. Abby brings out her anticipated dessert- homemade coconut cake, accompanied by more tea. If Finn hadn’t lodged himself into the hearts of the Griffins, his silver tongue and good manners certainly did, Jake positively smiling at every word that leaves his mouth and Abby beaming.

As they sigh at Abby’s delicious cake, a lull settles over the conversation. Lexa suddenly begins to long for Dorothy. Dorothy’s pecan pies, if only she had learned the recipe. The spritely old woman had claimed that her pie could even mend a broken heart. Now the secret has been taken to her grave. Never would Lexa taste something so exquisite again. If Dorothy’s pie could not ease this feeling, nothing could. 

Finn is more open about his fondness of Clarke now. Wine has loosened him up. She recognised that look. Once upon a time, Lexa too, was the recipient of that gaze. Oh how times had changed.

So Lexa looked on. Picture perfect families would be like this one. Conversations can start and ease with comfort, there’s a certain kind of warmth that emanates from them, and a funny little tenderness that cannot be seen but is felt in every passing moment. At times like this, Lexa sees herself standing outside looking in.  
  
Once the last of the cake was taken, Jake and Finn went to load the paints and brushes onto the car. Plates are cleared up and Abby shoos Lexa away. She could handle the dishes just fine thank you. Lexa steps into the front yard for some fresh air. She spots Clarke by the car. 

If she was smarter, she would stay inside. (Lexa never really was all that smart.) 

“Congratulations,” Lexa said as she came within a few metres. 

Clarke looked up, slightly surprised. “Thank you,” her free hand tucks some stray strands of hair behind her ear. She had gotten another piercing. 

“Are you happy?” Lexa leans against the car door next to Clarke. She’s watching the the lights of the house. 

Clarke’s hands are together. “I would say so. Are you?”

“I don’t know.” Lexa said. “I think maybe this is the closest I’ll get, to being happy.”

“I think,” Clarke now tilted her head. In the way she had always done, baring her slender neck. “You are thinking too much Lexa.” 

“Maybe you’re right.” 

“I’ve never been wrong.” Clarke said. Lexa could see the small quirk of her lip. It’s nothing like the smiles she gives Finn. But it’s better than nothing. 

Her heart throbs. It’s too easy to fall. 

It gets darker quickly. The sky seems black. There’s only the soft glow of the lights inside, and some street lights outside. Lexa has the urge to go stargazing. She opens her mouth to say to Clarke- 

“Well, everything’s loaded.” Jake smiled. “We’ll see all of you on Sunday.” 

They seem to have materialised before Lexa’s very eyes. The darkness was deceiving.   
  
And so, Jake leans to kiss Clarke’s cheek and hug Finn, before Abby did the same. “I’m sure you all have lots of work tomorrow, but don’t overdo it.”

* * *

  
A slow song plays on the radio. A strange calmness has descended. One, Lexa supposes, that is the result of a home-cooked meal. The silence that followed was a comfortable one. Her windows are rolled down, letting in the cooler night breeze. 

A loud horn and blinding lights caused Lexa to swerve off the road. A car speeds by with blasting music. 

Finn rubbed at his head. “What’s his problem?”

“Cage still has a stick up his ass.” Lexa said, rolling down the window to tug off the streamers and plastic bag that Cage threw. 

“That was Cage?” Clarke craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse. “He used to be so friendly.”

“Friendly to you,” Lexa said. The last time Cage was ‘friendly’ involved joining forces with Bellamy to round up a gang of Clarke’s future beaux to ambush Lexa. Needless to say, it was a bloody brawl. 

Now Finn leaned forward on his seat, a teasing smile on his lips. “Old friend?”

“Classmate.” Clarke said.

Lexa slowly returned to the road. From the rearview, she could see the curiosity bubbling from Finn by the way he looked at Clarke, hoping for her to give a story. Perhaps Clarke hasn’t told him much of her life here. 

She could still feel the slight buzz of wine in her veins. “Finn, you should know that everybody was sweet on Clarke.” 

“They were not,” Clarke said, sounding almost indignant. “Everybody wanted Anne.”

At that, Lexa laughed. “That was after they realised they couldn’t have _you_.”  
  
Lexa continued. “Prom, homecoming queen, not to mention the guys who fled to Aunt Sally just to spend summer with you.”   
  
“Woah, woah, what’s this?” Finn laughed. “So Clarke’s been a princess all her life?”   
  
“Better yet, completed by her mean little prince.” 

He nudged at Clarke. “Who?” 

“Bellamy, a friend, and nothing went on between us.” Clarke crossed her arms. 

Even Finn didn’t seem convinced. Her lips feel looser now and the words come out.  “Bellamy thought himself pretty tough. Swaggered about with his funny name and his funny hair but girls loved him for his bad boy antics. He did treat Miss Allen badly once, then Clarke had a go at him and he backed right down.”

At that, Finn grinned. “So you were a tough princess all your life.”

“A princess that needs no saving.” Clarke fired right back. 

A distant yearning, one, she knows, will grow to consume her whole being if she lets it. She doesn’t. Clarke has always made her weak. 

  
“Made him fall real bad in love with her.” By the time her brain has registered what left her lips, Lexa’s laughing it off as if it’s nothing. 

  
“Enough, you’re ruining my image.” Clarke’s protest falls on deaf ears. It’s the alcohol catching up to her that she must be imagining some kind of nonexistent endearment. 

  
“Were they together?” Finn now makes a face. Displeasure.

“Nah,” Lexa can see his relief. “Clarke’s broken a few too many hearts in her day.”

It’s meant to sound playful, and indeed Finn laughs, but even Lexa could hear the strain in her voice. Lexa’s unspoken y _ou broke my heart_ evaporates. Clarke must feel it too because she looks out the window and changes the subject. 

  
“And what happened to Maddie?”

  
“Knocked up with Frank’s kid.”

  
“No!” Clarke's expression is horrified.

So Lexa simply recounts the story, the one she heard from Lincoln, who learned from Murphy. It is easy and her heart slows.  
  
“Cage threatened to kill the bastard, but Frank’s got friends in all sorts of places. He got Cage locked up for almost a year, until the kid was born. Released him the day they left for Georgia. It’s been rough these years, Cage’s old man slit his wrist after their plantation went bankrupt. He’s got loan sharks chasing him every day.”

Clarke sits back and sighs. “I can’t believe it.”

Indeed, Cage then was ‘bad’, always around the wrong crowd. However, he’d always been tender when it came to Clarke, bringing flowers every Thursday to Clarke’s art class, bartering the best sweets to win her affection. Everybody knew he was absolutely smitten with her. Then again, Lexa thinks back to young Clarke. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a girl made of all idealism, dazzling smiles, and the mind of an artist. One would have to be heartless to resist that charm.

Lexa focuses on the road and tries not to sound too nostalgic. “It’s been seven years, everybody’s changed a bit.”

Sentimentality did not suit her.

* * *

 

Clarke and Finn say their goodnights, each carrying two three cans of paint each. Once Lexa’s Ford stops by the garage, even in the darkness, Lexa could make out the damaged rose bushes. A pair of gardening scissors were lodged deeply into her favourite beech tree that’s been on the lot since ’62.

It’s too quiet.

The lock on her front door has been tampered with.

Lexa takes a breath and pushes the door open.  
  
A long whine catches her attention. _Zorro!_ She shivers in relief. He can only whimper. She flicks the lights on and sees the damage. Zorro had one scratch across his shoulder from a tussle with the intruders, still fresh with blood but not too serious. A muzzle to prevent him from biting and a leash tied tightly around the legs of a chair. 

“You’ve been a brave boy,” Lexa brings him into a tight hug. “Thank you.”  
  
It takes a few tries to free him, and Zorro leaps on her, whimpering. 

Some floorboards upturned, shredded paintings, broken vases. Her leather couch slashed. Her old boxing bag had been dragged out. _You’ll be needing this- C.W._ Cage. 

Black graffiti scrawl burns into her eyes.

LOVE IS WEAKNESS.  
  
Lexa’s father taught her how to braid and how to smile at soft insults, how to cheat your enemy broke in poker, and how to bet on the winning horse every single time. But he never taught Lexa how to beat it- how to beat weakness.

_The house was perpetually dark. Young Lexa was convinced a storm cloud had settled above it. Older Lexa supposed it was built facing the wrong direction. Dark all day, dark all night. Sometimes the electricity cut off so they made do with candles that burnt until the melted wax doused out the flame.  
_

_“I’m home,” she said, closing the creaking door behind her._

_“Come ‘ere,”_

_She jolts. Her dad, home, at this hour?_

_She couldn’t make out the expression on his face in the shadow “Come here, Alexandria,” he said, beckoning with one hand, a cigarette held between two fingers. He does not seem angry, so Lexa approaches._

_“Even if ya hate me,” he sets the glass down on the table. “Remember this.”_  
__  
Lexa can smell his breath, the next few words hissed into her ears. “Love is weakness.”

 _He pulled back and rubbed at his face. How he trembled, as if it was a wintry Christmas Day. He started to laugh then, an awful sound, broken, grating._  
__  
“He knew how to hurt me so he did! Oh he did!”  
__  
Who? Lexa wanted to ask. Who did this to you?  
__  
But he only sipped his whiskey and hummed a song under his breath, muttering words like a mad man. When the sun rose the next morning he’d drag himself to work half hung over. Lexa could hear him smashing plates and bottles through her blasting music upstairs, long after she’d gone to sleep.

The words seep deep into her bones. 

LOVE IS WEAKNESS.

Nothing’s been stolen. Her electronics are still safe, as are the little photographs Lexa does have- the box- she is relieved, the floorboard has not been lifted to reveal her dearest memories. She knows the smoke detector’s damaged, and it only took one look to see the telephone wire was snapped. It reeks of petrol, with stains on her couch and rug leading all the way to the backyard. A single unlit match tossed aside as a warning. _Did they run out of time? What if they-_

Lexa downs a mouthful of vodka. It burns the entire way down her throat. The room’s a goddamn mess but she can’t tidy, not when her mind’s jumbled. She should call Anya or do something _right_ but she doesn’t. 

She hangs up her old boxing bag, the chains clinking against the rusted metal hook. 

  
Her body follows through with the punch. Coats of dust slip from the bag. She falls into a rhythm. Left, right, side step, hook, kick.

She hears it with each breath.

_Weakness. Weakness. Weakness._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Clexa endgame I promise)  
> Thank you for all your kind words <3  
> So turns out Lexa's involved in something shady.   
> *also story's not fully fleshed out yet. If you've got any suggestions / what you wanna see feel free to leave something behind ^^

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧  
> So pumped for this fic.


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